Odi et Amo
by BelovedArise
Summary: Hermione had plans for a perfect summer in muggle London shared with her best friends, but when things turn sour and the boys head back to The Burrow, she thinks she's in for another lonely summer until an injured Draco Malfoy shows up at her door in the middle of a stormy night, anyway. Can he be trusted, and what will happen over the summer and when they return to Hogwarts?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** The story I've been planning for over a year has finally actually come into existence (at least the first chapter). I hope you enjoy this fic half as much as I've had writing and planning it.

* * *

The grey and cream-coloured owl woke Hermione Granger from her sleep with a hoot, and the witch stirred almost lazily, opening an eye to an envelope in her face. She sat up with an excited squeal, recognising the loopy handwriting of Headmaster Dumbledore. She took the letter and ripped it open in the same way she did test results, half-excitement and half-nerves.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _After some discussion, I have decided to acquiesce to your request to allow Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley spend some time at your home this summer. I feel that it might be quite helpful for the the three of you to spend some time together away from the magical world. Professor McGonagall will visit this week to place a few more protective charms on your home, and Mr. Weasley will drop the boys off this Friday._

 _Wishing you a very happy remainder of your holidays,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione let out a happy trill and swept from her bed in her striped nightshirt to get breakfast and set her plans in motion. There were lists to make and things to do, but for once she would get to have her friends over to her house. She had never had friends over before, never really had friends before Harry and Ron. She wanted to rescue Harry from his horrid aunt and uncle and spend the summer with her friends, where Molly wouldn't be trying to worry over all of them, especially after Harry had lost Sirius. Just thinking about that night made her chest tight, but she ignored it. The battle was over and they had time before Death Eaters were storming the gates after their latest defeat...or so she hoped.

* * *

Friday didn't dawn bright and clear like Hermione would have hoped, but it wasn't raining or cold, which was as much as one could really hope for in an early English summer. Her parents were in their flat above their practise for the workweek; leaving her on her own, just the way she liked it. She loved her parents, of course, but they had both been busy and independent people and nurtured the same thing in their daughter, helped along by their discomfort with the magical world. Now, however, Hermione was waiting for her friends. The house was immaculate, spare rooms were aired and ready, and the Gryffindor was nearly bouncing in the parlour in front of the fireplace, looking between it and the windows, unsure of how Mr. Weasley and her boys would arrive.

Just as she was about to look at the mantel clock for what felt like the hundredth time, green flames erupted in the fireplace and it was all Hermione could do not to clap her hands in glee as Mr. Weasley appeared, dragging soot all over the cream-coloured carpet. "Hello, Mr. Weasley!" She chirped instead.

"Hullo, Hermione!" Arthur replied, as Harry all but fell out of the fireplace with a gasp, pulling his school things behind him. "Where are your parents?"

"Hi Harry!" Hermione said happily, helping him pull his chest out of the way of the fireplace, just in time for Ron to follow through the green flames. "Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, my parents are at their dental practise for the day, that's all." She didn't mention that during the week they rarely came home, choosing to stay at their flat instead of coming home and commuting during the week.

"Hey Hermione," Harry replied, with what she could instantly tell was a forced smile. His green eyes were shuttered and she knew that he was still blaming himself for the Department of Mysteries and grieving for Sirius. Impulsively she gave him a smile and reached out to squeeze his hand.

The moment passed and she turned to smile at Ron. "Hi Ron!" She grinned at him. "Come on, let me show you to your rooms and we can relax."

"Hey Mione." Ron replied, grinning back at her in a way that made her heart beat faster. She shook her head just slightly.

"Where do you want me to float these two's things, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Oh, right this way Mr. Weasley, the boys' bedrooms are on the second floor." Hermione led her guests up the stairs of the townhouse to the second floor. "Here we are." She said excitedly, opening doors on either side of the second floor bathroom. "I set up these rooms for you, and even hung hooks for Pigwidgeon and Hedwig's cages so they'll get plenty of sunlight."

"Wow, Hermione, this is really great." Ron said, as he followed Arthur into the first guest room. "Thanks!"

"Yeah, Hermione!" Harry called, from where he was hanging Hedwig's cage two rooms down. "Your house is great!"

This was going to be the best summer _ever_.

* * *

This was as bad as the summer when she had been sent away with Lavinia and Miranda to a mountain lodge while her parents got to stay home and work. It had started out well enough, but Ron was getting more and more sullen.

"Thanks Suresh." Hermione said with a cheerful smile as she took the sack of delivery from the boy, peeling off a few extra notes for him, when he had shown up with ginger beers as well as the curries she had ordered for her and the boys. "How'd you know my parents weren't home?"

The delivery boy gave her a wink. "You only ever order phall when your parents aren't home. Just looking at anything stronger than madras gives your father heartburn." He grinned perfect white teeth at her. "I figured a fizzy drink when they weren't home couldn't hurt."

Hermione gave him a grin. "Clever, Suresh. See you next time."

Suresh took the notes easily. "I'm always around if you have a taste for something exotic." He replied. "Bye Hermione."

Hermione closed the door and turned around to find Ron glaring at her. "What?" She asked, annoyed. Ron had taken to an annoying trend of glaring at her for no reason, refusing to look her in the eye or sulking. She was beginning to feel like it was the Triwizard Tournament all over again and she was Harry. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Ron grumbled.

Hermione shook her head in confusion at the redhead, and handed him the pack of ginger beer. "Come on, let's go eat dinner. Poor Harry's probably wondering what happened to us. Ron grumbled something Hermione couldn't hear in reply, although she thought she might have heard 'bloody wanker,' but ignored it. Harry and Ron weren't fighting again, so she was probably wrong anyway.

At least Harry was acting normal, Hermione reflected as they gathered around the kitchen table eating dinner. "I was thinking maybe we could call Dean and go to a football match this weekend." She said, thoughtfully, as she took a bite of naan. "I know you two must miss quidditch, and since my parents will be home they'll be enforcing healthy food and activity anyway."

Ron looked at her suspiciously. "You hate quidditch."

"I'm not a fan of football either, but I thought you two would like it better than following me around the British Museum or shopping." Hermione replied, smiling at him. "I do want this summer to be fun for you."

Harry grinned slightly. "That's really nice of you, Hermione. I never got to go to a football match, except when the Dursleys were trying to make Dudley more of an athlete, and even then it was just to school teams."

"Will it be fun for you too?" Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged slightly. "Anything is more fun with friends."

* * *

Football might be more fun with friends, but not with Harry, Ron and Dean.

Hermione had prepared for a day of pointless talk of sport she didn't really understand or care to understand, but she wanted to spend time with her friends, and she did enjoy quidditch enough to appreciate the camaraderie of a shared team. The day hadn't started badly. Sure, Hermione had wanted to march to The Burrow and incendio all of Ron's ' _Martin Miggs_ ' comic books, but that was becoming a normal part of her day. (How Ron stayed her friend when he took all that bigoted tripe as truth flabbergasted her. She would've expected some of the things that came out of his mouth to come from a Slytherin!) The trip on the Tube had been easier than the first time they took it, and it had seemed, for awhile, that everything was okay.

Until she had gotten up, gone to the loo, and then to the concessions stand, bringing back everyone pork pies and tea. She could only take so much discussion on why there was only one ball and how football strategy might be useful back at school. Laden with snacks, she handed them out to the Gryffindor boys.

"Cheers, Hermione." Dean said over a chant a he raised his cup of tea.

"Here Ron." Hermione said, handing him the last pie with a smile.

Ron didn't look up from where he was staring fixedly at the football pitch. "I'm not hungry." He said, voice rough.

Hermione was instantly concerned. "You're not hungry?" She repeated, pie in her hand forgotten. She had never thought she'd ever hear those words pass Ron Weasley's lips. He was always hungry. She had watched him create mountains on his plates at meals for years. "Are you feeling all right, Ron? You only had two pieces of bacon and some eggs at breakfast, and now you don't want a pie…"

"I'm fine!" Ron insisted, the tips of ears going red.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, concerned. "We can head back to the house if you want."

"I said I'm fine!" Ron shouted, just a bit, and waved his arms. Hermione could see what was about to happen a split second before it did, but not soon enough to stop it, and soon her blouse was covered in an unappetizing combination of grease, tea and pork pie. She let out a sound of dismay. "I'm sorry I was concerned, Ronald!" She snapped, stomping off in the direction of the loos. Why did she even bother. Why did she even care? Why had she decided this summer would be a good idea?

* * *

Hermione muttered mutinously under her breath as she tossed her stained shirt into the washer, angry that her attempt to be kind had backfired for no reason that she could understand. It was as if Ron was a different person than he had been for the past five years.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice disturbed her from her list of epithets, which had just reached 'mouth-breathing frog spawn.'

"Not you, Harry." Hermione said, quite quickly. "I just don't know what's wrong with Ron. I'm worried about him, are we sure no one put him under the Imperius?"

Harry grinned at that, even though the subject was serious. "It's Ron all right. He's just jealous, Hermione."

"Jealous of what?" Hermione asked in disbelief, utterly lost. "I was giving you and Dean the same thing."

Harry shook his head at the fact that someone so clever could miss what was so obvious to even him. "Hermione, you have a lot more money than Ron, and every time you buy us something, or take us somewhere, he wonders how you could have possibly been happy visiting the Burrow." He sighed

"That's ridiculous." Hermione grumbled. "I'd rather be at the Burrow with people, than be here, all alone all summer." She looked away. "I get lonely here, with my parents gone all week."

"You always have your books." Harry reminded her, with a grin.

"True." Hermione said quietly. "I just...wanted a summer with my friends in this world, away from You-Know-Who and Death Eaters and prophecies."

"I know." Harry said honestly. "But maybe we should go back."

Hermione frowned. "Maybe." She admitted. "But as little as their here, this may be my last summer with my parents. I have to stay."

"I understand." Harry said, with a sigh. "I'll talk to Ron, we'll probably leave tomorrow."

Hermione turned and gave Harry a hug. "You know you're like a brother to me, don't you? I don't want you and Ron to leave."

"I know, but Ron…"

"I know." Hermione said with a sigh. "I know."

* * *

The Monday night after the boys had left, Hermione found herself curled up in the parlour under an afghan, rereading The Odyssey as a summer storm raged outside. As Telemachus set out on his journey, she was broken from the epic by a knock at her door.

Wand in sleeve, just in case, she opened the door carefully, stopping in shock at the sight in front of her. " _Malfoy_?" She gasped.

"Hermione," Draco Malfoy groaned, rain diluting what could only be blood on his face and running off the black of his clothes.

Hermione found herself staring at the boy who had made a lot of her schooling hell, bloody and pale, and somehow at her door in muggle London and using her first name. "What happened to you?"

"The Dark Lord." Draco answered. "I wouldn't...the Mark." He groaned, and without anything else to say, slumped against the wall and went unconscious.

Unsure what to think, Hermione grabbed him before he fell to the ground, and taking the unconscious weight, she dare not think dead, and pulled him into the parlour. She didn't know what to think, but it went against everything against she believed. No matter why, he had come to her, and she would make sure he would get better, no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

After a moment, Hermione decided there was only one thing she could do, and started trying to get the clothes off of the Slytherin boy. As she worked, she couldn't help but wonder how he had come to her door, why he had come to _her_ of all people, and why someone who had called her a mudblood for four years had decided to apparently tell Voldemort where to stick it. If you had asked her ten minutes ago, she would have told you that Draco Malfoy would give serious thought to joining the Death Eaters, if not jumping in with both feet. Obviously, she knew him even less than she thought he did and being that wrong about something...about _someone_ rankled.

For now, however, she had to focus on how to save him. She couldn't take him to St. Mungo's , who knew how many people loyal to Voldemort worked there? Bode had been murdered inside the hospital, after all. The Burrow was also out: Harry and Ron would never believe Draco had changed, she wasn't sure _she_ believed it, and it would have been easier for him to find The Burrow than her house if he thought he'd be safe there. She pulled out her wand, even though she knew using magic would get her in trouble with the Ministry, but just as she opened her mouth to start incanting a healing spell, there was a pop on the other side of the unconscious Slytherin, and she found herself looking into the large eyes of a House Elf.

"Master!" The House Elf squeaked, in a feminine voice, putting it's large hands over the bad wounds, making them glow gold as her spindly fingers moved in the air over them. "Master must get better, Mistress Aunt was very wrong to hurt Master, very wrong indeed!"

Hermione was relieved for the elf to heal the boy. As much as she hated the slavery of House Elves, she didn't want to be expelled from Hogwarts because she had healed _Draco Malfoy_ of all people, but she would have done it anyway, and then created a watertight appeal. "Thank you." She said to the elf, whose eyes were watering. "What is your name?"

"Gimme." The elf replied, blinking. "I have been with Master since he was a babe. I am sworn to Master Draco."

Hermione gave a snort at that, amused that the boy had an elf named 'Gimme.' "Did Draco give you that name?"

The stricken, sobbing elf nodded. "Mistress Mother picked Gimme out specially for Master Draco." She said, her long fingers still moving over wounds. "Gimme had never had a family to love before, but then she had Master Draco!" Her ears perked at this last bit, before drooping. "Poor Master Draco, Gimme is all he will have left, since bad Mistress Aunt gave him _clothes_."

"Would you help me get Draco up to a spare room, Gimme?" Hermione asked, her mind whirring and needing more time to digest everything that had just been said, both about Draco and the house-elf, and what Draco being 'given clothes,' truly meant.

"Oh yes, Mistress Hermione!" Gimme answered happily. "Just show Gimme and Gimme will move Master!"

"You don't have to call me Mistress, Gimme." Hermione said, as she gestured toward the stairs. "This way, be careful of the low ceiling." Her mind was so preoccupied that she hadn't even noticed that unlike Dobby or even Viktor, Gimme had had no problems pronouncing her name.

Gimme turned large watery eyes on Hermione. "Does Mistress Hermione not like Gimme?" She asked, as they traversed the stairs and hallway. "Gimme is a good elf, always takes care of her peoples."

Hermione didn't know how to respond at all for a moment, but then they were at the spare room, and she showed Gimme inside. "Can you bring Draco up here? I'm going to check my trunk, I might have some potions that can help." Before she had even finished her statement, Gimme had squeaked and somehow teleported away, leaving Hermione blinking. By the time she had returned from her room with a general pain-relief potion and a blood replenisher she had found in her trunk, the elf had Draco tucked in the bed, and was watching over him nervously.

Without saying much, Hermione approached the bed, and carefully opened the blond's mouth, tilting the potions into it, and massaging his throat so that he would swallow them. While she was still worried about him, she realised that he had made it through the worst and the best thing she could do was to let him rest. Hopefully when he woke he would have answers for her questions.

She left the worried elf to watch over Draco, and decided to do something for her, so that the poor thing wouldn't worry any longer about whether or not Hermione liked her. She went up into the attic, pawing through the old toys until she found what she was looking for, a fancy doll bed that Aunt Julia had spent far too much money on, as it was a wooden replica of a Regency era sleigh bed, in cream with little lilac flowers painted on it. She carried it carefully down from the attic, and placed it in her room, next to her own (human-sized and less pastel) sleigh bed. Then she took the bedding and feather tick mattress, and set to laundering them so they would be fresh. She had never been one to play with dolls, but the small bed would come in handy. While the washing machine was running, Hermione felt adrift for a moment, unsure of what else to do. She couldn't just go back to her book as though nothing had happened, after all.

Which is how, by the time the wash was ready for the dryer, she had a pot on the stove, burbling away as she added ingredients to the stock inside. She may not have her wand, but she didn't see why food couldn't be infused with as much magic as potions, and when he woke up Malfoy would need something to eat...but she sincerely doubted he would be able to handle anything solid. He was just lucky that she often made soup so that she could have a quick meal when she didn't want to be separated from her books over break - it meant she had everything she needed, because she wasn't sure about leaving the (former?) bully alone in her house, even if he wasn't a Death Eater.

Part of her wondered if it was all a trick, but she couldn't help but remember the Quidditch World Cup, and Malfoy warning her to keep her head down. She had taken it for an insult at the time, but even later that night, she had understood that he was trying to help her get away from it all...the question was _why_. She thought back over their interactions, the way they needled each other, and shook her head. Maybe things weren't entirely what they seemed. Maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't entirely what _he_ seemed.


End file.
